I've Got You
by Dakota Jericho
Summary: Mac meets the newest member of his team, Dakota Jericho, but as time goes on he discovers there is more to Dakota than meets the eye. She facinates him and he facinates her.  From Mac's POV. Rating will change as the story goes on.
1. First Impressions

With a flash of the badge I stepped past the yellow ticker tape and into the lobby of the grand central hotel where already uniforms and material witnesses had lined against the walls and filled any empty seat not cordoned off by the CSIs, one of which I didn't recognise. Average height, long red hair and dressed in classy business woman attire with the subtle s of a nine millimetre and badge to her hip. I tried to look, but what else was I supposed to admire. The artist splatters of crimson blood and brain matter pasted on the floor?

"Mac," Danny snapped me out of it just before I started to drool as he headed in my direction. I swallowed hard and met him halfway, toeing around the dead air hostess on the floor. "Danny, what have we got?" I asked as I took a clip board from him. Danny excitedly went down the scene. "Our vic is one Madame Bridgette Dupree, age twenty three and once very attractive." As I looked at the unfortunate vic I struggled to see how he managed to work that one out. Half her face was missing, tastefully removed by a close range blast from her assailant. Poor girl never stood a chance. "Witnesses say she was hit at close range by a guy claiming to be an admirer, he carried a bouquet of French lilies, her favourite flowers according to a co-worker, and addressed her by name as she stepped out of the elevator. They aren't sure what they said, but next thing they knew a barrel was poking out of the flowers and Bridgette was all over them, literally." I looked at the blue skirt uniform, the easily recognisable dress code of an air hostess and wondered what a French hostess, only in town for a few days, could have down to warrant such a brutally meditated murder. "Obviously the vic knew the killer since he knew what her name was, what kind flowers she liked and where she was staying. Did anyone get a look at his face?" Danny looked over at the two ladies crying in the corner, also in hostess uniforms. "No," he said grimly. "Guy wore a cap and sunglasses, and couldn't see much through the red mist." Nice and gory, a public execution. Definitely a planned hit and I was sure Danny and the rest of my unit would be scouring the usual lines of investigation such as video cameras and witnesses so I excused Danny with a touch of the shoulder and decided to conduct another investigation of my own.

"Haven't seen you before," I said coolly as I stood over the red head. I always had a thing for red heads, don't bother asking me why. She looked up and smiled before standing up and removing a pair of nitrile gloves on her hands. "Yeah sorry, I'm Dakota Jericho, Detective third grade." She offered her hand and I took it, it was soft and firm, nice. "Mac Taylor, CSI. When did you move here?" She looked at me as if I'd asked a stupid question and I suddenly wanted to kick myself for not paying attention to the morning memos. This was her first day in NY, but obviously not her first around a crime scene. "Sorry, slow day for me." I apologised, she smiled and the awkward moment passed. "What do you think?" She asked as she looked down at Bridgette. I crossed my arms and put my hand to my chin, about to set off in one of my impressive moments of deduction. "Bridgette takes the job as a means to spend a few days in New York then breaks a few hearts on the first big night out and one of said jilted lovers decided to make sure she doesn't get away with it." She looked doubtful, but I wasn't finished.

"At least that is what it would look like at first glance," I continued. "But the killer knew her too well. This isn't a crime of passion this was planned maybe weeks or months ahead and the killer must have known her for a length of time." She looked impressed, but pessimistic.

"Well why did he do it broad daylight? If he had so much time to plan then he could have done a better job, unless he just lacked the IQ for that." She looked down and Bridgette quickly before walking off, I followed and updated my angle behind her.

"Yeah he could have, but that wasn't his goal. I think he wanted this to be public. Maybe it was like airing the dirty laundry in public, this stroke me more like a public execution than simple payback. Aside that, he managed to pick the one time of day that the lobby doesn't have an arm guard standing by, that tells me that he's put more thought into this that we're giving him credit for." She flashed me a fabulous smile and I knew I was making a good impression. "You've got a good head on your shoulders detective Taylor, I like how it thinks." If only she knew. "What, you don't like how it looks either?" Sly maybe, but we were both smiling as we reached outside to face a sea of reported being fended off by a single line of linebacker built uniformed cops. Obviously today wasn't going to be the day to ask for a coffee date.

**I will update every two days ^_^ I hope you enjoyed it so far, I know it's not much of a starter but will get better I promise ^_^**


	2. The Order

I lost my chance at a crack at detective Jericho as she returned to precinct in order to crunch the events and read in the rest of the task force. I expected Don to have showed up earlier but as I returned to the lobby he joined me as we pushed through the revolving door. He was in a green sweater and jeans, and looked like he had all but given up shaving. I said nothing, someone else would and Don had come close enough to going for my neck more than once in the past. "What we got Mac?" He wheezed, clearing his throat as he staged to keep up. I read him in and left him to it and I lost him twenty minutes later while I examining Bridgette more closely while we waited for the coroner to arrive. In the heat of the NYC bumper to bumper traffic he was sure to be another twenty minutes. I snapped on a pair of nitriles and padded around the body with a sense of decency, sticking to the pockets and handbag. Pockets held no shocks, a handheld mirror and a set of keys which I turned over to Danny for him to play with. It was the handbag that held the killer clue, that one detail that turned an impossible series of facts into a sensible motive. It was tucked neatly in a concealed pouch, only visible if you strained yourself to find it. A mobile phone, switched off with a full battery. Sure this wouldn't seem odd had we not already found another mobile in the main pouch of the handbag. I powered it up, ignored the welcome message and investigated the contact list. There were only thirteen contacts, none of which sounded French. I opened the other phone and checked the contacts again, this time comparing them to the thirteen numbers on the first phone. No matches.

"Hey Danny look at this," I said as I held out the phones. Danny pulled on a pair of gloves and took a closer look. "The thirteen numbers on the first phone don't match any of them on the second phone, what did you say the co-workers's names were?" Danny looked across two the still bawling hostesses. "It was Priscilla Blanc and Loraine LeMonte why?" I had a hunch, and a quick check of the phones ruled out that the hidden phone was a work phone as Priscilla and Loraine were listed in the first phone. "This phone," I held it up for him to admire. "Only has thirteen numbers and none of the numbers match the ones in the other and the other one already has work and family contacts, what does that say?" Danny didn't miss a beat. "She had a second life?" I nodded as he was in the ball park but not the right lane of thought. Maybe she didn't have a second life, but she had some sort of agenda that she didn't want anyone to know about.

Back at the precinct, Dakota had just managed to dive inside away from the reporters when she was summoned unceremoniously to a task force meeting. Great, she thought. How much more exciting could a first day have been? In the cramped office of Police Chief Martin Stead the hustle and bustle of the outside world was silenced by the floor to ceiling glass wall. The sudden silence unnerved her even before the dark skinned police chief in the pristine police uniform, adorned by all manners of medals, removed his police hat and rubbed his balding hair as he directed her to take a seat. The heat was staggering, but as she sat down Martin looked incapable of sweating. "I understand this is your first day, detective Jericho." He spoke, his finger providing the punctuation. "Yes sir," was all I meagrely managed. Martin sat back in his leather office seat and folded his hands together on his lap. Behind him on the black granite wall was a plasma screen television that was focused on the evening news, where the story of the murdered French hostess was already streaming along the bottom of the screen.

"Have you met the team?" Martin asked, taking Dakota by surprise. Was she really being dragged off case for an induction update? "Yes, I met them at the scene. They all seem very professional." Martin's middle aged face didn't relax, like leather under a lace vice. "I don't have to remind you of the expectations you're credentials have set. We're in a recession, and I'm in the habit of cutting rather than adding." Oh, Dakota realised with a cold shiver as she worked out why she was there. Martin wanted to set out the principles, the parameters of her job and what he expected from her. "I'm not a stickler for budgets, I realise that with every loss in a department there must an effort to reinvigorate. When Detective Bonasera left we drafted in Detective Danville, but you're stepping into a new position. I want you to remain a part of the CSI department, and submit monthly reports on the progress and work of Mac Taylor." Dakota went cold, so that was it? She was brought in as a liaison for a man she just met. "Is that clear, Detective Jericho? This isn't an official position, but I strongly recommend you agree." Martin broke her train of thought, pushing her for an answer...


	3. The Wake Up Call

It was late, very late in fact, when I finally got back to my apartment and even later when the door man, an elderly Hispanic man with side swiped hair and beady eyes by the name of Rojas, let me in. Save to say, I was in dire need of sleep. At my head hit the pillow the last thing of the cold world I was so desperate to leave behind was the bold digital numbers on the face of my clock; 3:27am. Bed time Mac, I thought as I released all thoughts of murdered hostesses from my mind and lulled off to sleep.

Claire was there, waiting in my dreams in a beautiful evening gown like a spectre of silk. We marched around the house, reliving the better moments of my life in the wrong order. She spoke softly in my ear, but then my brief encounter with heaven came to a shattering halt with the sound of a phone ring. At first it didn't wake me up, but then it rang again and I reluctantly dragged out of my slumber and thrown back into the world of the living. Eyes closed, arms flailing to escape the duvet, I reached lazily for my phone somewhere on the bedside table. After knocking the lamp and alarm clock on the floor I finally ripped the phone off its stand and hit the answer button. "This is Mac Taylor and somebody better be dying," I muttered darkly. It was Danny, and the dying comment was a bit late.

"Sorry Mac we would have waited until morning to bother you but we've got another homicide." So what was my first thought, but then Danny threw in the kicker.

"There's also a message for you Mac, you should get down here as soon as you can. The new girl will meet you out front." I couldn't even summon the strength to complain so I hung up and rolled back on the bed hoping maybe to catch another ten minutes of sleep, only to hear the phone ring yet again.

"What is it now?" I droned into the phone, surprised to hear a Hispanic accent answering back.

"Mr Taylor there is a car out front and a young red haired woman looking to see you, shall I send champagne up sir?" I could tell he was joking, but you can't blame a guy for hoping.

"Morning," Dakota chimed as I yawned my way from the front door to the passenger door of her Ford Taurus. She lifted herself off the hood of her car and lifted up a tray of coffee cups for my selections.

"Latte; sugar and no milk right?" I lifted the cup and took a sip, immediately feeling a lot more awake.

"You know my coffee run, how? I've been trying to teach it to Danny for years and he still can't comprehend the difference between latte and brown." She gave me that sort of smile that made you feel like you've asked a stupid question, giving me another look at her impeccable smile as she lifted her own cup and took a sip.

"I make knowing the people I work with a priority when I start a new job," she opened the door and got behind the driver's seat, leaving me to join her on the passenger seat. "You move jobs a lot?" I asked, bringing up the topic. She shrugged her shoulders and started the Taurus, pulling off and leading us into the night.

"Jonathan McNulty, forty seven, television broadcaster, you heard of him?" Running on nothing but the caffeine and the single shred of sanity I had left my mind struggled to put the name to the face of the greying news producer who haunted my television every morning. "News guy, what happened to him?" I somehow knew the answer, but when it came it still surprised me.

"He was found dead in his bedroom in Lexington, forced entry and two gunshots. Messer has already confirmed the rounds were the same rounds that killed our hostess." Great, I thought. Now I was dealing with a serial killer at almost five o'clock in the morning. I was going to need more coffee or conversation, as for some reason I found Dakota's voice strangely revitalising.

"So tell me your story Miss Jericho." I finally managed to steer the subject off of the coming crime scene trudge, and since we had a good twenty minute drive to Lexington I decided to seize the opportunity to test the waters.

"Playing the field, detective?" She shot back, smiling playfully in the corner of her mouth. I smiled back and retorted as best I could.

"Actually I was just hoping to get to know the woman I'm working with." I flashed a cheeky grin, knowing how I had used her tactic against her before taking a triumphant sip of my coffee as we stopped for a red light.

"Well Mr Taylor I hail from the Colorado, in the small town of Aurora which was known for hurricanes and the local ice creams. I was a normal small town girl who dreamed of marching the streets with a gun and a badge so I made my way through college with a qualification in forensics before being fast tracked to the FBI at twenty one. A few years later I decided to drop out of that tax bracket and join you lowly CSIs in Florida, and now I'm here." Wow, I thought. Attractive and a former fed, I was waiting for the catch.

"You were a fed?" I asked, raising an eyebrow to make the idea all the more interesting. She smiled as the lights changed, then sped off without another word.

**I am sticking to the routine as promised ^_^ I have gotten some good reveiws so far but more would be nice, thanks**


	4. Dear Taylor

Jonathan McNulty was a dying breed of journalist, the honest one. His two story bedroom on Lexington Avenue was in the middle of one of the most developed lots in New York, and the most expensive. The log cabin interior design just boasted of a seven digit price tag as Dakota pulled the Taurus up outside. A coroner's van was already outside, along with several Impala cruisers and Danny's bike, the show off. Even with my badge credentials I had to wait outside for Don to have a quite, and hopefully malicious, word with a young rookie who had been protecting the ticker tape like it was the Mexican border. I got an apology out of him, so Don must've been less sore at me than usual that day.

When we got to the room I paused to marvel Jonathan's prized collection of New York Giant memorabilia. Replica jerseys, a few authentic ones, and a shelf of team photos stretching back to the eighties. A real fan, I got the feeling I would've gotten along with the guy.

"Took your time," Danny said as I moved into the bedroom where the naked remains of Jonathan McNulty laid spread eagled on the bed, and his blood dripped down the far wall.

"Yeah well, I wasn't the one driving," I answered looking at Dakota, who was hunched over something in the corner, "so what you got on the vic?"

"Well blood splatter suggests the bullet came from this direction," Danny stood up and drew out a diagram in the air with a gloved finger, "but we haven't found our bullet, and the way the vic fell suggests his hands had been behind his head. We also found traces of lipid and mucous on his cheeks, so we know he had been crying before he died. Although if I was naked with my hands behind my head and a forty-five calibre handgun loaded against my smuck then I would probably go the same way."

I caught something in that explanation that didn't make sense, and Danny must have noticed it in my face because the next thing he said answered it. "He left the round for us, in a bag cleaned of prints along with a message. That's why we had to get you out here Mac." I looked at him and his face was grim and sombre, giving me the feeling I wasn't going to like what came next. Dakota stood up, nitrile gloves now on, holding a small sandwich bag holding a shell casing and a torn piece of paper. I took a glove from Danny and slipped it on as Dakota walked over to me slowly.

"Mac," she whispered, I could see the alarm and confusion in her face as she handed it to me. This wasn't going to be good.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Lt. McKenna Boyd Taylor.

My blood ran cold as if the plastic bag had turned to ice in my fingers. I handed the bag to Danny and then excused myself without a word to anyone, ignoring Dakota's voice as it called for me from the bedroom...

Outside the air did nothing to sooth the drumming ache in my head. Did I have that before? I couldn't remember, but it was plaguing me now. I stood alone in Jonathan's garden, letting my thoughts race. Who the hell was this sick freak, and why was he leaving me messages with a corpse? Whoever they were, they addressed me by full name and rank. A killer who takes the bullet but leaves the case and a note for the cops, none of this made any sense. My phone rang in my coat pocket, dragging me kicking and screaming back into the real world. Reality was calling, I wish it would just leave a message and let me get back to it when I had the time, and the patience. I pulled out my phone and looked at the screen as Danny's name flashed at me. I flicked the phone open and hit the answer button.

"Danny, find anything else?" I tried not to sound hopeful.

"No Mac sorry, they only left what they wanted us to find, how you holding up?" A darker side of me wanted to chew him out for asking such a stupid question, but Danny was a dear friend and I knew better than to take my frustrations out on others.

"I'm fine," I lied, "bring in the case and run it for prints. I'll be in later I need to clear my head a bit. I don't start for another nine hours anyway." There was a small pause and I could tell he was worried, but in true Messer style he kept it all casual.

"Cool, I'll see you later Mac," I didn't reply, I closed my phone and threw it back into my pocket. 'The path to hell is paved with good intentions,' it couldn't have been a more clear and stark message. The path to hell, I only wished I had some method of replying. Some way of telling this asshole in clear words that I would be there, in hell, waiting for them if that is what it would take to get my hands on them.

"You look like you could use something a little stronger than coffee," Dakota's flat shoes clicked off the pavement and onto the grass behind me as she closed in. I was actually thinking the same thing, funny enough.

"A whiskey would really sit well right about now, but I have a better idea," I looked at my watch; there was plenty of time for it, "give me a lift and I'll explain on the way."

"Where are you going?" She asked, following me as I led us back onto the gravel.

"To see an old friend," I replied, "who might be able to help."

**The plot thickens ^_^ Reveiws make me happy 3**


	5. Mind Jack

Jack Keller was a marine, friend, and most recently a private investigator. When things looked bad, despairingly so, and you found yourself with no lead and a district attorney bearing down on you he was the man you turned to. I usually restrained from his support, but since this killer had just added a personal touch to his murders I decided to pull out all the stops.

His flat was on the seventh floor of the Sliver building, a towering glass and steel monolith little over fifteen minutes from McNulty's bachelor pad over on Lexington. Even from the street I could tell the place hadn't gained any charm since my last visit. The receptionist behind the bullet resistant window pointed us to the elevator with a curt wave of his hand. Nice to see you too, I thought.

Why Keller insisted on nesting in such a ruin I will never know, but even his door stank of rank poison and stale urine. We passed an open door on our way down the hallway, a family of drug abusers stared out from their den before slamming the door in my face before I could so much as think about calling in a drug violation.

"Jack," I called, my fist wracking on his door, "if you're still in there then you obviously didn't listen to my fantastic advice when I told you to move. Now open up!"

No answer, I started to worry that maybe he had listened to me after all. I looked at Dakota, who looked as if she was still trying to work out why we were there in the first place, and then knocked again, harder.

"Jack Keller!" I nearly roared as I wasn't in the mood to be ignored today.

"What is it?" A voice answered behind us, I turned around and there he was; Jack Keller. Back in the days of USMC he was a jar head with an Irish background, sporting the usual shaven head and dead look in his eyes. Now he had grown back into humanity, his scraggy dark brown hair reaching behind his ears, wearing a track top and denim pants and cradling a brown paper grocery bag under his left arm. He didn't look any more threatening than your average trained killer, but the unwavering aim of the 9mm Berretta in his free hand spoke volumes.

"Easy Jack," I cooed, "Detective Mac Taylor, you remember me?"

Jack's eyes softened, and more importantly the 9mm in his right hand was tucked behind his back. "Mac," he said with relief, "man I told you to call me before you drop by!"

"And I told you to move out of this hell hole, looks like neither of us are particularly good at listening. Now are we going to wait for the rats to attack or can we all go inside?"

"Yeah sure, hold this." Jack threw me the back, which I deftly caught, and whipped out a chain of keys. He opened the door and ushered us inside, it was like stepping into another world. The scent of air freshener filled my nostrils and the grimy sick green walls outside looked less grimy in Jack's flat. The biggest difference was the four monitor work station Jack had set up at the foot of his king sized bed in the space where you would usually find a television. Then if you weren't already certain that you were dealing with a former NSA spook, a gun cabinet could be spotted in the corner of the kitchen.

"You renovated?" I asked as I set the paper bag down on his kitchen counter, even the ex-fed Dakota was struggling to process the change of scenery.

"See, I did listen." Jack scoffed as he locked the doors. "Now, what can I do for the great Mac Taylor?"

I found an empty spot on his couch and parked myself down, leaving Dakota to stand and continue admiring the workstation. "Homicides, two so far and a message for yours truly left with a victim, thought you could lend a hand."

"Aren't you used to death threats and whackos by now?" He grimaced, unloading a carton of milk from the bag.

"Yeah, but when they address me by full name and military rank I tend to get a little nervous." Now Jack looked interested.

"Name and rank, sounds to me like somebody has your number Mac." Jack finished packing away his groceries into his ridiculously empty fridge and then came round to join us, eyeing Dakota suspiciously.

"Oh, Detective Jericho this is Jack Keller, Keller probably knows who you are." I introduced them, smiling at my internal joke like an idiot.

"He does, how?" She asked, looking at me and then at Jack who shrugged coyly.

"I really don't, and nice to meet you too." I got the feeling he was lying, but he turned to me before I could challenge him on it. "So if someone is leaving corpses with your name on it then why haven't NYPD started investigating you?"

"Because only one of the vics came with a note, and he died less than two hours ago." I could feel the shift in thought as Jack's mind whirred into sleuth mode in a way I have only seen some of my greatest detectives do. I would hire him if it wouldn't ignite a national security dilemma. Jack went silent and then moved towards the computer screen.

"You're sure you weren't left a message with the first victim?" He asked without looking over his shoulder, clicking through screens and patching through log in boxes at an unprecedented rate of typing.

"I'm fairly sure but ME is still going over the body, maybe we missed something." I looked over Jack's shoulder, scrutinising the faces that were zooming past his screen. Some of them I recognised.

"Don't bother Mac," Jack interrupted, "did you pay attention to the flowers he gave to the hostess?"

I looked at him, then at the blown up image of yesterday's news, Bridgette Dupree, and a highlighted image from a CCTV. Even with the classic frame grain that made most, if not all, CCTV dubious evidence sources I could very clearly make out the lilies bundled into our suspect's arms. There was no way we would be able to get a facial match from the angle, but the way the killer is holding the flowers almost towards the camera suggests he wanted them to be seen. Then something else hit me, a card was tied to the stem of the flowers.

"There is no way that killer took those flowers as he ran for it, my guess is someone in your team or lobby security overlooked it and it's probably in the receptionist's vase or the bottom of a black bag." Jack rapped, sounding annoyed.

"Thanks Jack, I'll keep in touch if I need anything." I was already moving towards the door when my phone rang again, this time it was Don. Great, I thought. This was all I needed. "Please tell me you have good news," I answered hopefully.

"You get to go on a merry stroll in central park, we just found a third victim." I could hear the sound of sirens and press attention in the background, suggesting another shit storm lays in wait as soon as I arrive. Whoever this guy was, he was just not letting up.


End file.
